


Self-Defense

by always1895



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always1895/pseuds/always1895
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a nightmare and accidently punches Sherlock.  Sherlock insists that John teach him self-defense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Defense

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for leloi for the johnlock gift exchange. Her prompt was: skull, Sherlock’s upper lip, John’s nightmares. I tried my best! Hope you like it :)
> 
> This is my first time posting anything I've written :$
> 
> Apparently I'm terrible at titles. Also not beta'ed or Brit-picked so I apologize for any mistakes.

Sherlock awoke to a kick in the shin and a shaking bed. He turned to John just as the army doctor let out a whimper and started flailing madly. Nightmares, Sherlock deduced quickly. Flashbacks. PTSD.

John’s face was screwed up tightly and his fists were clenched as he tossed and turned, his legs kicking wildly and sweat gathering at his temples. Sherlock reacted, bodily throwing himself on top of John, pinning the shorter man beneath him. John reacted as any trained military man would have: he punched Sherlock square in the face. The detective let out a yelp as he grappled to pin John’s arms above his head. John awoke suddenly with a yell, his eyes snapping open, chest heaving for breath.

“Oh God,” he gasped, looking at Sherlock’s face above him in horror. “Sherlock, Christ, I’m sorry.” He reached out with a trembling hand and gently touched Sherlock’s nose and upper lip. His nose was swollen and already bruising, and his upper lip was split and bleeding.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s apology.

John nodded distractedly. “I’m fine, just a nightmare,” he replied, gently rolling Sherlock off of him and getting out of bed. He pulled on his soft white sleep t-shirt and handed Sherlock his grey one. “Come down to the bathroom with me, let me ice your nose and clean up your lip.”

Sherlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Unnecessary,” he said, but he pulled on his shirt and followed John down the stairs to the washroom. He sat obediently on the closed toilet seat while John went to get ice from the freezer. John returned and handed him ice wrapped in a tea towel. 

“Hold this to your nose,” he ordered, and Sherlock did as he said, knowing that resistance would be futile. John grabbed a hand towel and ran it under warm water, bringing it up to Sherlock’s lip and gently patting the blood away. “It’ll be swollen and bruised for awhile,” he said, checking Sherlock’s nose. “But you’ll be fine.”

“Of course I’ll be fine,” Sherlock said. “It’s nothing, and you've taken excellent care of me, Doctor.”

John held the ice back to Sherlock’s nose. “Just for a few more minutes,” he promised in response to Sherlock’s childish pout. They sat quietly for a moment before John broke the silence. “I think you should go back to sleeping in your own room again,” he said, averting his eyes. Sherlock didn't reply, and John finally glanced back at him. He looked like a small child; the ice pressed to his nose, his split lip, and the hurt in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like having you in my bed, because you know I do,” John continued, removing the ice from Sherlock’s face and placing it beside the sink. “And I don’t mean all the time. You can definitely still spend time in my bed. In fact, I insist that you do. But I think, at night, when we’re actually sleeping, we shouldn't share a bed.”

Sherlock forced the hurt off of his face. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, standing abruptly and heading out of the bathroom. “It’s still the middle of the night, let’s go back to bed.” He started heading up the stairs in determination.

John stood firm at the bottom of the stairs. “Fine, you can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep in yours. It doesn't really matter to me where we sleep, as long as we’re not together.” He paused and his voice softened his eyes downcast. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“John,” Sherlock said soothingly as he came back down the steps towards him. “I am fine. It was an accident. It won’t happen again. We both sleep better when we’re together. Come back to bed.”

“It could happen again, Sherlock!” John exclaimed. “And next time I could punch you harder. You don’t know how to protect yourself from me and –“

“Then teach me,” Sherlock interrupted. “Teach me how to block your punches and avoid your kicks. Teach me,” he said, looking down at John. “Teach me, because I can’t sleep without you anymore, I don’t know how.” John hesitated and Sherlock continued. “I don’t want to fall asleep without your hand in mine. I don’t want to wake up every morning without you in my arms. I don’t want to sleep alone. I can’t. I cannot sleep without you. Please, John.”

It was the ‘please’ that did it. “Fine,” John said reluctantly. “I’ll teach you some simple self-defense.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said briskly. “We have to go see Lestrade in the morning, but we should have some time in the afternoon to –“

“No,” John interrupted. “Now. I’m teaching you now. We’re not getting back in a bed together until I know that you’ll be able to stop me from punching you again.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a way that showed that he thought this whole thing preposterous and pointless, but he followed John dutifully into the living room. John pushed their chairs out of the way, clearing a space on the carpet in the middle of the room. John lay down on the carpet, and gestured for Sherlock to follow suit. Once they were lying in the way they would normally sleep, John taught Sherlock some simple ways to block any punches, and the easiest way to pin him down when he was flailing from a nightmare. After they’d practiced a few times and Sherlock had perfected it, John was almost satisfied.

“Once more,” John said, settling back down on the carpeted floor. “Then we can go back to bed.”

Sherlock nodded and John began to move his legs in fake twitches and spasms. Sherlock threw himself on top of the smaller man; using the tricks he’d been taught. He eventually succeeded in pinning John beneath him without getting hit. He smirked down at John triumphantly. John smiled back at him. “Can we go back to bed now?” Sherlock asked, a slightly mischievous glint in his eyes. Before John could answer, Sherlock began to poke and tickle his lower stomach. John writhed helplessly beneath him, laughing and gasping, unable to fight Sherlock off with his hands still pinned. John finally managed to flip their positions (he was the one with military training after all), and Sherlock was grinning beneath him, panting slightly.

“Never tickle me again,” John threatened with a smile. “Or I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson to take away your skull.”

“Not the skull!” Sherlock gasped, in fake horror. The pair chuckled briefly, their eyes locked, John still pinning Sherlock beneath him. John’s eyes softened and he gently pressed their lips together.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, chastely kissing Sherlock’s forehead before climbing off of the detective and standing up. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, holding out his hand to help Sherlock up. They climbed the stairs to John’s room together, collapsing on the bed immediately. They fell asleep entwined together, so much so that it was impossible to tell where Sherlock ended and John began. 

*****

John awoke the next morning and could feel Sherlock’s gaze upon him. Squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the window, John could see Sherlock sitting cross legged beside him, staring at him pensively. 

“Morning, ‘Lock,” John said groggily, pushing himself up on one arm. 

“I hid the skull,” Sherlock said with a sly grin.

Before John’s sleepy mind had processed Sherlock’s words, the detective had tackled him to the bed and begun to tickle him mercilessly. But John was a soldier, after all, and he was never one to give in without a fight. A tickle-fight ensued.


End file.
